


arguments make a marriage

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Family Issues, Fluff, M/M, Slash, Superfamily, Superhusbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1292488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony and Steve fight, a lot, and unbeknownst to them, it affects Peter more than they anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	arguments make a marriage

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.
> 
> This piece is kind of old. A few months. I wrote some, put it away, and only now decided to finish it. The writing style may be slightly different to the one I'm trying to form in my other works, so. I'd have re-written it with the new developing style, but I don't have as much interest as I did when I first had the idea. 
> 
> *

‘Steve, c’mon, not the coffee machine—!’

‘Let go, Tony.’

He whines, hands tightening around his beloved. ‘Take away my suit, it’d be less painful.’

There’s no point in trying to overpower Steve, his grip a vice, and if he wants to, he can lift Tony up, with him still clinging to the machine, dangling twenty inches from the ground. ‘Stop acting like a child—just, you can get it back early once you’ve slept.’

‘I’m a grown man—’

‘Really? That’s not what I’m seeing.’

‘How else am I supposed to function without my oasis?’

Steve rolls his eyes, lifting the machine higher above them, out of Tony’s reach. ‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe exercise, water, a healthy diet and required amount of sleep—’

‘Hey!’ A pout forms on his mouth. ‘If I recall correctly, when we took our vows, you agreed to accept me as I am, my sickness and my faults. That includes my coffee, my cheeseburgers, my sleep patterns, and any other issues in my life. Have I once complained about you running five miles, or told you to stop with the punching bags because they split your knuckles?’

‘No,’ Steve cries. ‘But when you pass out from dehydration, I’ve a right to be concerned.’

‘This is more than a little concern! I just—you know what, keep the coffee machine. I’ll buy a new one. In fact, I’ll buy a dozen, stock up, stash them away for the next time you do this.’

‘I do this because it’s necessary—’

‘Hardly,’ Tony says, a little more harsh than intended. ‘It feels like you’re smothering me.’

‘Smothering?’

Pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘Yes. I need to breathe, and it feels sometimes that you’re holding a bag over my head, tying a knot around my neck, and I can’t get it off.’

‘That isn’t what I’m trying to do—’ Steve tries, and there’s a tinge of pain in the undercurrent of his tone, but it’s no use.

‘What are you trying to do?’

‘I’m trying to help!’

‘You’re my husband, not my mother,’ Tony snaps. ‘I already had one of those, and let me tell you that didn’t work out, so like hell do I need, or want, another.’

Tony doesn’t bother waiting for an response, because if he does, the argument will string on for hours, without a possibility of ever finishing, the chances of it resurfacing later on high. He disappears down the steps leading to his workshop, the sound of him punching in the security number and the door slamming from the sheer force rattles along the walls, but he forgets to notice—they both forget to notice—that their son, hidden behind the corner on the other side of the room, hears everything, and he has every time they’ve found a reason to fight.

* * *

It’s a crappy day.

Well, it had been a crappy night, too. Which is why Peter barely mumbles a goodbye to his parents, zones out during the ride on the school bus, and his muscles instantly seize up with a agitated strain when he steps through the entrance. It’s as if someone has strapped a pole along his shoulders, causing him to straighten out, more than what’s comfortable. He can’t relax, twitching and finding most things an annoyance.

The murmurs of students, the slamming of their lockers, and just the mild draft from the open windows causes his hands to clench at his sides. All because he can hear the echoes of his fathers’ voices, ringing in his ears and bashing around his skull, relentless, and it adds to the building stress. It had started at a young age, but not this bad, never this bad—sure, his Dad and Pops fought, but it is only when Peter approaches his young adulthood, that the claws grow and voices rise, to an almost unmanageable amount.

He knows he should be used to it, as it’s not uncommon for parents to argue, but as far as he can remember, he’s hated the thought of fighting, strange considering he isn’t unfamiliar with fighting himself. It’s the loud, painful voices, the contorted faces, and a follow up of silence from his loved ones that he finds it hard to bear. If it becomes so uncomfortable, he’ll plug in his headphones and blast music, or leave the house and wander the streets for a couple of hours, or however long it takes for things to calm down. And the worse of it is that his Dad, nor his Pops, have seemed to notice his discomfort and unease, pinning it as typical, teenager hormones.

‘Parker!’ A voice shoves his thoughts away. ‘Hey, Parker!’

He sighs, hand clenching around the door of his locker; the metal bends and grates under his grip. Flash.

‘Not crying over daddy issues, are we?’ It’s shouted across the hall. ‘Trouble in paradise?’

Shifting his bag onto his shoulder, he turns, heading down the corridor, and even when he rounds the corner, the distant mockery of Flash is trapped in his head. And his parents yelling. And the murmurs that seem to scrape along the walls. And every other noise and breeze and breath.

And he just wants it to stop.

* * *

‘You have got to be kidding me.’

‘Sadly, no.’

‘Are you sure?’

Steve shakes his head, which is better than him rolling his eyes. ‘No, Tony, I travelled twenty miles, interrupted your meeting, and dragged you out here, just to say hello and not that our son has been suspended.’

‘Well,’ he starts, crossing his arm and offering a raised eyebrow. ‘You can’t deny you haven’t come all this way in the past to do exactly that, along with certain other things, you know, when you’ve missed me so.’

‘As much as I love listening to you about what happens between us behind closed doors—’

‘Don’t forget on desks, floors, against walls, pretty much every surface you can throw me on, actually—’

‘—but I think Peter is more important right now.’

Out of all the times Steve thinks he’s right, it turns out he is, especially on this occasion. The significance of their son’s education and life is their first priority, ahead of each other, and to know that Peter is causing problems at school, isn’t what they’ve been hoping to hear. What they want is what a wonderful student he is, or how well he works with others, or that he is a dashing, young man just like his fathers.

Firstly, a few months before, Peter tells him a detention is the reason for why he is late home one night, and the reason for his detention is that he speaks back to his teacher, despite being told to pay attention in class.

Secondly, only a fortnight later, Steve receives a call from Peter’s teacher, and that he’s failing one of his classes—his favourite, computing and science—and it’s so unlike their son that Steve, and Tony when he finds out later on, are stunned into silence. When they try and sit him down for a chat, Peter is quiet, too quiet, and guarded, storming off to his room when they fire too many questions his way. And ‘they’ referring to Tony and his big mouth.

And now, a week’s suspension for punching in several lockers and webbing the length of the school corridors can be seen as a sign of rebellion. There’s a part of Tony that may have laughed and clapped his son on the back for the ability to cover the halls in a curtain of white in a minute flat, but if he had, then he’d receive the look from Steve that is merged disappointment and ‘no sex tonight’, which breaks Tony’s heart just thinking about it. What else can be expected from a seventeen year old boy; the disobedience, the sarcastic remarks, and—in this case—the webs that shoot out of wrists and saving the city when they should be doing homework, are all a part of teenagers’ daily life.

Besides, it isn’t like he does it everyday. Okay, recently, he has, but the point is this is a phase, or so Tony wants to believe. He’s a good kid, hardworking with a past of straight A’s and hauling his ass out to protect civilians, and although he can be a pain, not doing his chore when told or staying out past curfew, he has to be given some credit.

‘That isn’t the point, Tony.’

‘I said that out loud?’

‘Uh, yes.’

Tony rubs the back of his neck. ‘I should look into using duct tape.’

‘You should—it’ll solve most of our problems.’

It’s said with that sassy hint, a smile stretching Steve’s mouth, and Tony raises his eyebrow. ‘All our problems?’

‘Most,’ Steve corrects. ‘Maybe not so much with the one we have now. Speaking of, Peter’s waiting for us to pick him up. From the principals office.’

'This is deja vu, tenfold.'

* * *

It’s Tony’s turn to drive home, his hands clenching around the steering wheel—not our of anger, but the itch to say something, speak up—as Steve gives Peter one of his fatherly talks.

‘C’mon, Pops, the suspension is only five days.’

The line in Steve’s brow deepens. ‘I don’t care if it’s for a few hours, it’s irresponsible and vandalising school property. Do you know how much it’s going to cost to clear up the mess?’

Tony tries to slip in, ‘Money’s really not an issue—’

‘Not helping.’ His teeth are gritted and the tips of his ears are reddened, which either means he’s embarrassed or frustrated, and feeling confident it’s the latter, Tony snaps his mouth shut. ‘You are grounded for a month, no allowance either—’

‘Pops—’

‘No, Peter, you’ve gone too far this time. End of discussion.’

‘Why won’t you hear me out?’ Peter exclaims, throwing his hands up. ‘I don’t do it for fun. If you both just listened for once, instead of—instead of creating troubles for yourselves, you’d understand.’

Pulling into the drive, Tony frowns. Creating troubles for themselves? He has no idea what that means, or implies, but from the way he spits out the answer and slams the car door, it isn’t at all good. Steve is rubbing his forehead, sighing, and Tony rests a hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t want to think how long Peter’s silent treatment will last this time.

* * *

It turns out Tony doesn’t need to worry about Peter not saying a word.

Steve has already done that for him.

He understands, each time this has happened, when Steve scolds Peter; the idle stirring of his cold coffee, cheek cradled in his palm, his eyes following the movement of his spoon, are natural reactions.

Not only that, but Tony knows when Steve is feeling down, as he cuddles close—not an arm around his shoulder, or simple, chaste kiss to the crown of his head—but laying it on Tony’s lap, fingers absently stroking over his thigh, and rubbing his cheek against the fabric of his trousers for comfort. He’s always done it; when he scolded Peter for the first time, when one of the Howling Commandoes knocked on their door, and the night of their honeymoon.

He might be in his mid-thirties, an adult, but when it comes to needing somebody to talk to, or just to be there, as if a ghost, not to be seen but as a presence, is what Steve wants, and will want for the next few decades to come.

Shuffling closer, Steve leans against Tony’s side, and Tony encourages him to lay his head on his shoulder, carding his fingers through the fine strands of blond hair. He presses closer, a quiet, flutter of a sigh breaking past his lips, and after another moment of silence, he murmurs, ‘I was too hard on him.’

‘Not if you think it was the right thing to do.’

‘Do you?’

Tony sighs. ‘Yes, I do. I understand he’s at this part of his life where things are things are getting tough and this is his way of coping, but he needs discipline to be guided in the right direction.’

‘There’s only so much we can do, Tony.’ A second sigh. ‘He’s nearly eighteen. When that happens, we can’t really tell him what to do anymore.’

‘You’re right, but that doesn’t mean we don’t get any say.’

‘You think?’

‘Sure,’ Tony shrugs, brushing his lips against Steve’s temple. ‘We’ll always have a say. I mean, he’ll be an adult soon, get married, have kids—but we’ll never stop being his parents, and he’ll never stop being our son.’

‘That’s not what he said.’ Steve tightens his arm around Tony’s waist; he means what Peter said in the car, of course he picked that up. He shifts uncomfortably, his muscles flexing as if he wants to get up but a rope is tied around him, holding him down. ‘I should apologise.’

‘If you can lure him from his room, I’m sure he’d accept your apology.’ When he receives no answer, he continues. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, honey. You care about him. You don’t want him to get points on his record, or earn himself another detention, or drop his grades, just like any other parent, so your concerns are normal. You want the best for him.’

Steve manages a smile. ‘How do you know when to say the right things?’

Smirking, and kissing the corner of his mouth, Tony says, ‘I’ve been in Peter’s shoes, more than once—’

‘Well, that’s no surprise—’

‘Excuse me, I’ll have you know, I was learning at a much higher level than what they taught me at high school.’

‘That’s why you got detention?’

‘Nope,’ Tony says, popping the ‘p’. ‘I accidentally blew up the physics lab a few times.’

Steve smirks, leaning down to nip at tony’s earlobe. ‘Nothing’s changed, then?’

Unable to help it, but Tony is enticed for more—not increasingly hard, furious kisses—but the gentle movement of lips, his hand reaching up to tangle in Steve’s hair, tugging him closer still. He tastes of coffee and toothpaste, an odd mixture, but Tony doesn’t care, because all he wants is for his husband to feel okay, to not beat himself up that can be easily fixed. He loves his son more than anything in the world, and to see him so distressed causes an uncomfortable clench in Tony’s chest. Reluctantly, he breaks away.

‘My point is: we’re all young once. We’ll bitch and moan, fight and throw tantrums—I managed all of that without seeing much of my parents—but most of the time, we grow out of it.’

‘You being the exclusion?’

Tony rolls his eyes. ‘I’m still growing.’

Kissing him again, longer this time, Steve murmurs, ‘Thank you.’

‘Anything for you, honey.’

* * *

Peter finally allows them entry after knocking four times.

Well, not exactly into the room, but at least opening the door so they can talk. As Tony looks through, he cannot help but feel the swell of relief in his chest as Peter hasn’t trashed his room this time. Most times his biology beakers are smashed with whatever was in them splattered up the walls, his computers screen cracked, and all other pieces of stationary and electronics he’s replaced dozens of times are broken or thrown out of the window — and thankfully, he hasn’t escaped to swing from buildings.

Once, he’d stupidly done just that, which to the public, the press and most news channels was a display of awe, whereas for the two worried fathers, out of their minds, had watched as Peter let off steam by dangling from skyscrapers and cranes. Throwing on his Iron Man suit, Tony had snatched him up, and although he’d felt awful for causing the most humiliating moment of Peter’s life, at the time he hadn’t cared for nothing but his son’s safety, nor when Steve had ripped into him about what could have happened. To see Peter had (apparently) taken their advice on board, is reward enough.

‘Yes?’ Peter asks, blocking the doorway.

It’s Steve who speaks. ‘Can we come in? Talk?’

‘Won’t take long,’ Tony cuts in. ‘We’ll be in and out in a second. You can get back to your work, or video games, or porn—’

‘Tony!’

‘Oh, God, Dad,’ Peter groans, swinging the door open. ‘Make it quick, please. I don’t want to hear anymore about that, which I don’t do, by the way.’

‘Whatever you say, kiddo.’

They make themselves comfortable on Peter’s bed—with Peter sitting at his desk, looking at them expectedly—and it’s in these situations that neither he or Steve know how to introduce a sensitive subject. Steve, was of course, better than anyone in the family, but surprising himself, Tony speaks first.

‘We wanted to see how you were doing.’

‘Fine,’ Peter rushes out, patting his thighs.

Steve sighs. ‘We have all day, Peter, so I’d rather settle this now.’

‘I don’t, actually—’ Tony cuts off when Steve turns to give him a look, one that screams, really? ‘But I can cancel my meetings, and the expo, of course, of course.’

The silence sinks in for what feels like a long, endless moment.

‘I do it because I want to, sure, but not for the reasons you think,’ Peter finally says. ‘It’s not because it’s fun, or that I want attention, it’s not even an urge to rebel against the rules—it’s just, you guys are always fighting, literally at each other’s throats.’

‘That’s it? That’s why you’re flunking?’

Steve glares. ‘Tony! A little more sensitivity, please.’

‘Sorry—just wasn’t expecting that.’

‘Go ahead, Peter.’

He takes a breath. ‘Well. I hate listening to you fight. It’s unbearable. Even when I lock myself on the other side of the building, I can hear your shouts, the insults.’

‘Have you always felt this way?’ Steve asks.

‘When I started to understand what was going on, yeah.’

‘We’re that bad? This is our fault, Tony.’

‘No—no, it’s not.’ Peter shakes his head, almost frantically, as if he doesn’t want Steve to ever think such a thing. ‘I couldn’t concentrate in class, and because people overheard my conversations about the issue, they made comments and I didn’t appreciate them, so to speak. I’m sorry, I know these sorts of things should be handled better.’

Steve’s gaze hardens, his voice firm. ‘Don’t you dare apologise. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I—we should’ve listened to you more, shouldn’t have enforced hard punishment without knowing first.’

‘Hold on.’ Tony says, catching up. ‘What were these comments?’

‘That you guys would stop fighting—’

‘Isn’t that a—’

‘—for good.’

‘As in we’re going to… separate?’

‘Yeah, and I know I shouldn’t, but I believe them.’

Tony doesn’t know what to say to that, other than a wow echoing through his head. If Peter picks up on their fighting, all their arguments, what else does he notice? Are they really that obvious? They’ve tried to keep their fights to a minimal, and the ones they couldn’t be avoided, happened in the privacy of their bedroom or workshop.

In hindsight, they do fight, a lot. Over the stupidest things, too. How Tony leaves most of the lights on by accident, or who should have picked Peter up from school, or if Tony doesn’t like something that Steve has cooked, but will still power through eating it—because he loves him so much and hurting his husband is the last thing he wants to do—and Steve knows, and all hell breaks loose. Yet, if they don’t fight over even the smallest things, there isn’t much excitement in their lives, no fuel that ignites the flame.

‘We’re not breaking up,’ Tony says. ‘Far from it.’

‘Then what’s with all the fighting?’

Steve turns to Tony. He nods. ‘We… need to fight, Peter—and I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s part of our lives.’

‘You’re right. That is ridiculous.’

‘Hey,’ Tony says, ‘You’ll understand one day. Your father and I, we love each other, very much. There’s no divorce, or a break up of any sort. We have disagreements, we shout at each other, break things and slam doors, but trust me, it helps. Arguments are what make a marriage.’

Peter quirked his lip. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever understand that kind of logic.’

‘Sure you will. It makes you consider why you’re wrong, how you can work on your issues. Why do you think I’m the man I am today?’

‘Cause Pops hides your scotch?’

Tony gapes. ‘He what—’ Shaking his head, he dismisses it. ‘Doesn’t matter. He helped me through my struggles, Peter, and that’s partly because we fought. His power and his strength and his opinion of my bad habits, the unhealthy life I led, was drilled into my skull, right? Sure, we still fight today, but that’s not going to change.’

Leaning forward, Steve claps Peter on the shoulder, once. ‘Dad’s right. I want to wrap my hands around his neck—oh, I’m kidding, Tony—but I love him, and I plan to stay with him for the rest of my life.’

‘When did this turn into a love fest?’

It’s wonderful to hear those words, when things turn back to normal, an expression of mild disgust and embarrassment settling into Peter’s features. And they know that Peter comes first, in everything, and he will always be listened to whenever he finds his voice. Funny how, even after years of raising a child, watching them speak their first words, take their first steps—or, in Peter's case, make his first web—get his first A on a paper, or soon to go off to college, that they're still learning the details of parenthood. The ups and downs, the positives and the negatives, the hard and the easy, but it's all worth it in the end.

And it's so blatantly obvious these issues will pop up again in the future; they may even within a few days, but they're prepared, what with the hundreds of problems and learning curves under their belt, have been for years even since Peter was welcomed into their lives. 

Tony smiles. ‘You can’t complain, kiddo. Gwen Stacey, is it?’

‘How do you know about that?’

‘I’m afraid that would be because of me, young sir,’ the AI’s voice cuts into his room. ‘Your father gave me no other choice.’

‘Dad!’

‘You can thank me later—’ Tony says, smirking. ‘—because she’ll be here in an hour for dinner.’

Groaning, Peter thumps his head against his desk. ‘Thanks, that’s just wonderful.’

* * *

Steve clicks the door shut, though Peter's groans and string of curses are still heard. ‘D'you really think inviting Gwen over was a wise decision?’

‘If it weren’t for me, and no offence to our son, but he’d have taken another few months before making a move.’

Steve smiles. ‘Would that really be so bad?’

‘No,’ Tony murmurs, leaning up to kiss him, hard. ‘But why waste time? I didn’t.’

‘You’re right. You proposing after five months wasn’t at all desperate.’

‘You said yes, honey; it’s a two way street.’

And Steve grins, so loving that Tony's heart stutters and his breath hitches as he's guided to the bedroom. There won't be any fights tonight. ‘I know,’ his husband says. ‘And I'm so glad you did.’


End file.
